


Drop Cloths

by gracefulally



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Painting, Snark, Surrogate Pregnancy, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Domestic Kradam. Paint, a silk tie, and snarky mouths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop Cloths

Kris paints vigorously. Kris paints emphatically. Kris paints…jauntily?

He can’t find the word to describe the high he’s on from the sheer levels of excitement, anxiety, happiness, eagerness, and giddy glee that are coursing through him – or it could just be the paint fumes, but that’s beside the point. Kris is so cheery that he is actually dancing as he throws up the first coat of the powder-blue paint on the stripped and prepped walls of the guest room. His socked feet shuffle and bounce, which bunches up the drop cloth on the white pine floor. The mildly spastic shimmies of his slim hips and solid shoulders are, somehow, in-time with the hip-hop jam that’s blasting from elsewhere in the house. With each thump, Kris bops his scruffy chin and he echoes the whine of the trumpet with his own warble.

“ _Oh I… Oh I… Oh I…_ ” Kris drawls out, with a side-to-side swing of his head.

If he wasn’t slopping paint – and thoroughly splattering his old jeans and t-shirt in the process – Kris would be doing the side-to-side slide dance from the music video that he’s worshipped since grade school. It’s nostalgic. The song lyrics actually make sense, now, to his adult mind. It’s not the most wholesome of songs, but the dance moves are _sick_. The video is smokin’ – everything about this song is smokin’. Why doesn’t he own any silk pajamas?

“That was _so_ hot,” Adam muses from the doorway as Kris bounces his ass in the air whilst bending over to pour more paint into his tray.

Setting down the paint can, Kris grips the tops of his thighs and narrows a sly look toward Adam. “I’m shakin’ my money make-ah,” he leers.

Adam’s expression rises in disbelieving amusement. He folds his arms over the chest of his collared shirt. “Will I get a bang for my buck?”

“You can get two tricks for a buck-fitty,” Kris replies in what he likes to refer as his “rap voice,” and he puts on his “stank face.”

Delicately touching his fingertips to his forehead, Adam chuckles. “My husband thinks he’s a gangster,” he says to the room. “And possibly, a pimp.” He sighs. “I think I deserve a ‘do over,’ or at the very least, an exposé.”

“You know you want some of dis!”

Kris throws his arms into the air and rocks at the hip, twice. A laugh bursts from Adam as Kris attempts to moonwalk, which is more of a backward stomp, as one of the drop cloths entangles his feet. Kris thinks it’s hilarious – until, he falls flat on his ass. …Nope. Still hilarious.

Laughter screws up Kris’s face as he loses the ability to breathe. He claps and rolls to his side, where he can hide his blushing face in the rough, khaki-like material that slipped him up. “It’s hard out there fo’ a pimp,” he mumbles into the cloth.

Adam’s standing over Kris with a hand pressed to his mouth, chuckling. He shakes his head. Love crinkles the edges of his eyes. “It’s a wonder you got anything accomplished, today.”

“Do you _see_ this room?,” Kris huffs. He rolls to his back and frowns. “It used to have polka dots on the walls.”

Offended, Adam says pointedly, “Pointillism is not _polka dots_ , Kris.”

“Whatever. They were polka dots. Zach doesn’t want polka dots.”

“Oh, he told you that, hmm?”

Kris presses two, paint-smeared fingers to his temple. His eyes go wide. “I can read minds,” he whispers. A beat passes. “In the womb.”

“Can you hear what I’m thinking?,” Adam asks as leans down and proffers an arm to Kris.

Kris grabs Adam’s hand and forearm, and pulls himself up. “Is your head shoved eight inches up a vagina?”

Adam blanches. “That obnoxious orange bandanna is rubbing off on you, Kristopher.”

Kris smirks, lopsided. He tip toes his way into an embrace of Adam. “Isn’t this room _fab-u-lous_?,” he muses in a lofty voice. It’s difficult for Kris to avoid burying himself into Adam’s chest. He doesn’t want to smudge Adam’s fancy shirt with wet paint. Though, he’s probably doing just that already.

Oh well. Adam doesn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re through being a pimp…” Adam’s voice trails off as he plucks the handkerchief from Kris’s hair. “I have some good news.”

Cool air pickles over the moist skin of Kris’s exposed hairline. His expression tightens as his feet dance in place and knot in a drop cloth. “She likes it?’ His anxiety keeps him from breathing.

“Ye—“ is the only noise that Adam utters before Kris crushes him. Laughing, Kris lifts Adam off of the floor. Adam groans in protest. His hands scramble to find Kris’s strong biceps. Kris snickers and drops Adam the couple inches back to the floor. Adam cups Kris’s face in his hands. Kris eagerly follows a tug up into a kiss, which Kris makes noisy with his murmurs of approval.

Adam tastes like…a smoothie. There’s more than one flavor of fruit. Kris pulls back and frowns. “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Adam replies with a frown of his own. “I haven’t had time to eat. I had some juice while I was waiting to see Sheri.”

Kris’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You were talking to her this whole time?” He bounces up for a peck on Adam’s lips, then coos, “Awww.”

“Yes. Yes, I was.” Adam sighs. He feathers his fingers through Kris’s wild, spiky hair. “She was sad that you couldn’t be there.”

Kris pouts. He would give _anything_ to visit their surrogate mother rather than painting walls, but “I’m still snifflin’. It would be a bad idea.”

“I still think you’re paranoid.”

“I still think…she likes me more.”

Adam’s eyes roll upward. “’Zachary Dylan’ won out,” he concedes with a sigh.

“Yes!” Kris wants to pump a fist in the air, but settles for planting a messy kiss to the underside of Adam’s chin. Adam tucks his chin for a slow kiss, but Kris is antsy and he breaks away.

“Did you tell her about the nursery?,” Kris asks. Adam smiles weakly, making Kris light up. He bounces on his toes. “Did you? Did you? Did you?”

“No,” Adam deadpans, with an exaggerated shake of his head. “We talked about the Paris Fashion Week for three hours.”

Kris groans as he slumps against Adam. “She probably slept through, like, half of that conversation.”

“She was knitting.”

“Awww!” Kris feels like he’s melting – whether or not Adam is still being sarcastic is a non-issue. He snuggles his face into Adam’s chest until his nose is pinching a button. “I love it when she knits. I want to learn how to knit.”

Kris sighs contently when Adam’s arms encircle him.

“You make it so easy to love you,” Adam says as he fists his fingers in the back of Kris’s hair. He tugs Kris’s head back. “Even when you’re getting paint all over my clothes,” he adds in an abrupt tone that makes Kris’s grin falter.

“Oh, crap!” Kris reels back and looks down between them. Spots and smears of light blue paint pepper the front of Adam’s white dress shirt and indigo tie. “I forgot about the paint,” Kris dumbly mutters.

Adam snickers. “You would.” He sighs and lifts his tie. “Just look at this,” he laments. His expression sours. “Kris, I just bought this shirt!”

“Well, you’ve got, like, five—“ Kris is cut off by a testy look from Adam that makes him wince. “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot – especially when it comes to Zach.”

The kiss that Adam presses to his mouth is rough and hushing.

“Shut up while you’re still ahead,” Adam orders, voice breathy.

The rest of the apology that’s knocking around in Kris’s head is sapped away into another kiss. Kris murmurs as Adam sucks on his lower lip. A toe cracks as his feet curl into the cloth on the floor. Kris’s fingers cling to the waist of Adam’s shirt, which pulls free of Adam black jeans as he backs off.

“Where are you going?,” Kris asks – it comes out a little more disgruntled than he intends.

A smirk twitches on Adam’s face. “I have to change,” he pointedly replies with a roll of his eyes. He tugs his tie loose. “ _You_ ruined my shirt.”

Kris huffs a noise of aggravation. “And I’ll just ruin whatever else you put on,” he says with a frown. He gives chase and catches the front tails of Adam’s shirt. “’Cause I’m gonna rip it all off,” he adds with a slow, cocky smile. “And I’m not gonna wash my hands before I do.”

“A little water is not going to wash off all of that paint, Kris,” Adam replies with a snicker. He slips his tie free of his shirt – well, almost free of his shirt. Kris’s hands are fast and grab either end of the folded silk.

Kris curls his fingers in the tie. “Nope,” he grunts. He licks his pink bottom lip. “But I hear that lots of sex will do the trick.” He urges Adam forward by pulling on the tie.

Adam smirks as he slowly steps into Kris’s arms. “Finally, something we can agree on.”


End file.
